


Breaking You With Gentle Hands

by shadowsapiens



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cuddling, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Sex Pollen, Wall Sex, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsapiens/pseuds/shadowsapiens
Summary: Six months into the reclamation, they’re still finding strange shrines and altars tucked in the palace’s nooks and crannies.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 22
Kudos: 174
Collections: Little Black Dress Exchange 2020





	Breaking You With Gentle Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [decay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/decay/gifts).



> Thank you for the wonderful Felix prompts, decay! I hope you enjoy <3

Felix finds Dimitri as the banquet winds to a close. There are refreshments and entertainment scheduled for afterwards, to entertain the visiting Alliance diplomats, but by the faint tension in Dimitri’s shoulders, the slight exhaustion in the curve of his lips, Felix has a feeling he won’t mind skipping the festivities.

Surely that’s why Dimitri’s face brightens when he meets Felix’s gaze across the crowd.

Ignoring the surrounding murmurs of _Your Grace_ , Felix makes his way to Dimitri’s place at the head table. He bends towards his ear, close enough he can smell his cologne. “One of the servants stumbled across another weird shrine in the cellars. I have guards cordoning off the wing now.”

The royal palace isn’t the same after the war. The empire and Cornelia have left scars both obvious and subtle. Six months into the reclamation, they’re still finding strange shrines and altars tucked in the palace’s nooks and crannies.

Dimitri looks intrigued, rather than alarmed. He leans in closer, and a lock of golden hair brushes Felix’s cheek. “Thank you for telling me, instead of running headlong into peril by yourself. Give me five minutes?”

Felix’s neck grows warm. “Meet me at the old east wing,” he manages, and flees the great hall before he bursts into flames. His heart pounds as he weaves through courtiers and corridors.

Something’s been wrong with him lately. He always thought he wanted Dimitri to be back to normal. And maybe normal is a fool’s dream for people like them, but it’s been pretty good these past few months. Dimitri’s leading the recovery well. He’s building a kingdom Felix wants to see. 

But sometimes he smiles at Felix, and it’s like Felix’s heart flips inside out. It hurts worse than it ever did, but Felix can’t look away. He’s spent too many years watching Dimitri to stop now, no matter how much it hurts.

***

They leave the guards on the ground floor. Felix almost insists on backup, but then Dimitri smiles and says, “Felix can look after me.”

Felix descends without argument because he doesn’t trust himself to speak without tripping over his words. And because if he goes first, he won’t have to look at Dimitri. It doesn’t help. Even with his back turned, the torchlit stairwell is crowded with Dimitri’s presence. Felix’s pulse quickens, not unlike the anticipation before battle.

He jumps when a broad hand closes around his shoulder. “Are you all right?” Dimitri asks. “I didn’t want to bring it up earlier, but you’ve seemed on edge recently.”

“I’m fine,” Felix snaps. Then, more softly, because he’s been trying not to fall into old habits, because he and Dimitri are supposed to be partners in this new Fodlan, “I just hate that we’re still finding those monsters’ claws in everything.” Which isn’t the whole truth, but it’s true.

The hallway flickers in shadow and torchlight. Their footsteps echo on stone. “Five years, they had the place,” Dimitri says quietly. “No, longer than that. Sometimes I fear every rock we turn uncovers a thousand years of evil.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “I can always depend on your optimism.”

“Likewise.” And Felix doesn’t look, he _doesn’t_ , but he hears the smile in Dimitri’s voice anyway. “Still. At least this is something I can fix. After a day of diplomacy, it’s almost refreshing.”

“You enjoy crawling through cellars?”

Now he can’t help looking over, and it’s a mistake. Dimitri’s gaze is luminous, impossible to hide from. “I enjoy crawling through cellars with you.”

Felix ignores his sudden case of breathlessness and stops in the middle of a room. It’s a dusty chamber filled with empty wine barrels. When they were children, Sylvain once led him and Dimitri and Ingrid here with the promise that they were going to have the time of their lives. Felix said he didn’t like wine, but Sylvain told Ingrid that all knights drank, and Dimitri wanted to supervise. Only, when Sylvain tapped a keg, all that came out was dust, and they laughed so hard a cook found them. 

Tonight, it’s just Felix and Dimitri. There’s still no wine to be found, but somehow Felix feels drunk on Dimitri’s presence alone.

He points at a half-open door across the room. “That’s the one, according to the maid.”

“No wonder we haven’t found this altar yet. That store room’s been jammed shut for years.” Dimitri steps forward, hand at his sword hilt, and eases between two barrels. He reaches out for the door. 

“Wait!” Felix hurries after him. “Let me go first.”

None of the shrines have been dangerous so far—as far as they can tell, they’re for Cornelia’s personal worship or practice, not traps for her enemies. But Felix still can’t bear the risk of letting Dimitri—as his king, of course, and his friend, no more than that—barge in like a clumsy, death-seeking oaf.

Dimitri pauses. “It’s fine, Felix.”

But when Felix grabs his arm, something in his expression changes. He doesn’t meet Felix’s eyes, just nods, and gives Felix space to move ahead. 

Felix closes his eyes to center himself. Three breaths, each deeper than the last, and his magic awakens under his skin. Crackling and dry, the memory of thunder. When he opens his eyes, everything’s sharper. The torchlight is brighter. The shadows are darker. Dimitri’s gaze is piercing blue, focused somewhere between Felix’s jaw and throat. 

“What?” he asks. 

Dimitri doesn’t answer. 

They should probably have brought a warlock or gremory with them. Instead, they have Felix. He knows how to electrocute from across the battlefield. He also knows control, which was much harder to learn, and detection, which has saved his life more than once. 

He focuses. “All right, nothing on the door.”

Dimitri opens it with a quiet squeak of metal. The door stays on its hinges; he’s learned control too. 

What should be a store room is bare of tools and provisions. Dark cloth curtains the stone walls, rustling with the draft of the open door, as if roving shadows encircle the room. A thick red and black rug cushions the floor, and in the center of the room stands a stone altar.

“Interesting.” Dimitri steps in, staying near the wall, and pushes aside one of the drapes. “Her flair for the dramatic is consistent, at least.”

As Dimitri inspects the walls, Felix looks at the altar. The surface is dark, like onyx, and holds a crystal goblet, dried flowers, and burned-out candles. Red wax pools on the altar like frozen blood. With only the torchlight from outside the room, he can’t quite tell what’s in the goblet. The dried-out dregs of some dark liquid. He breathes again, activating his magic, and probes the items. Nothing in the candles, and nothing in the flowers. But when his magic touches the goblet—

The crystal shatters, and power thunders through him. 

Felix staggers back, ears ringing, vision swimming. He barely feels strong hands on his arms, holding him up, before everything goes black.

***

A familiar, urgent voice stirs Felix from sleep. It’s close, and as every syllable vibrates through the air, Felix feels himself growing warmer. The aftershocks are hotter, sweeter than any magic he’s felt before.

His eyes flicker open, and his vision fills with Dimitri’s face, far too close. Not close enough. Even in the dim torchlight, Felix can trace every eyelash, every tiny freckle, every faint line of pain, past and present. He moves in a daze to touch the corner of Dimitri’s mouth. The warm, smooth skin makes his fingertips buzz.

Dimitri grabs his hand and says something. Felix doesn’t understand the words. He’s too preoccupied with Dimitri’s hand, huge around his, the gentle scrape of callus and nail. Dimitri’s touch is nearly cold, a relief from the fire burning under Felix’s skin. 

He tries to sit up, but he feels too weak, and restraints tighten around him. Dimitri’s arm. He’s half-lying in Dimitri’s lap. He should feel embarrassed about this, but he doesn’t, which means something is very wrong.

Dimitri’s blessedly cold touch moves to his forehead. Felix hears from a distance: “Goddess, you’re burning up.”

“I noticed” Felix manages faintly. He closes his eyes again, leaning his cheek against Dimitri’s chest. Goddess, this feels good. Dimitri feels as solid and steady as he looks. Firm muscle beneath the embroidered doublet. Felix would feel even more comfortable if Dimitri took the doublet off, and the shirt underneath. And he smells so good, like—

Felix realizes he’s nuzzling his king and jerks away. He scrambles to his feet, swearing, and backs up until he hits a wall. The drapery and cold stone do nothing to ease the heat within him. His head hurts, suddenly, pounding so hard he thinks he’ll pass out again. He wants nothing more than to fall back into Dimitri’s arms—to touch him—to just be close to him—surely that—

But he can’t, because he’s hard in his breeches. He’s more aroused than he’s ever been in his life, and whatever Dimitri is, he’s not naive. 

Dimitri reaches out—Felix yearns for the touch—but keeps a careful distance. He looks so earnestly concerned. So human. “You’ve been cursed, or poisoned. I need to take you to the healers.”

“I don’t need a healer.” Felix feels monstrous inside, ravenous, depraved. He tries to look at the altar, the scattered shards of crystal, instead of Dimitri. Tries to remember a book Sylvain once found in Abyss—wishes he had paid attention to Sylvain’s scandalous excitement instead of heading for the training grounds. “I need…I just need a minute. You go back upstairs.”

If he can take care of this quick, maybe that will break the hex. But his knees buckle once more, and once more Dimitri catches him. Felix has no choice—he tells himself hazily—but to lean against his friend. With the contact, some of the pain ebbs away.

“I’m not leaving you alone.” Dimitri sounds almost angry. “Can you walk?”

Dimitri’s too close, and Felix is too dizzy. He twists his hands in Dimitri’s hair and drags him down. Breathes, “It’s not poison,” against his lips, and surges into a kiss.

He’s clumsy, and Dimitri’s stupidly tall. Felix catches his chin first, then the corner of his mouth. Then Dimitri leans down, and they slide together perfectly. The hurt fades, replaced with blissful relief—

Until Dimitri breaks away. He holds Felix by the shoulders to keep him from lunging forward. “Felix,” he rasps, as if Felix’s name alone is all there is to say. His face has gone completely still. At last he says, slowly, “Sylvain showed me a book once.”

A book. Spellbook. This is a spell, some sick prank or accident or leftover of Cornelia’s. This isn’t real.

“You should go,” Felix says dazedly. “Or I’ll kiss you again.”

His shoulders hurt where Dimitri’s hands tighten at his words. That’s good. He’d rather have bruises than nothing. The tiny room feels even tinier around them, curtains and altar circling, shoving the two of them closer together.

“Does it hurt?” Dimitri’s voice sounds strangely choked. “Would—does this help?”

And his hand moves from Felix’s shoulder to his neck. Bare fingertips send shivers down Felix’s spine. Felix’s eyes flutter closed. “You should go. I’ll be fine,” he says, as he nuzzles into the touch, and kisses Dimitri’s palm.

Dimitri swears, shivering against him. “I should go,” he agrees roughly. “You’ll hate me after, if I stayed and took advantage of you.” 

Felix truly must be delirious now, because Dimitri’s making no sense. Felix is the one taking advantage of Dimitri’s shock and desperate desire to help people. Felix is the monster here, winding his arms around Dimitri’s neck, mouthing his collarbone through his shirt. Pressing himself against his hip. 

“Never hated you,” he mumbles into damp fabric. “That’d be too easy.”

He feels more than hears Dimitri’s shuddering breath. Then Dimitri takes his arms and gently pushes him away. 

Pain blazes through him, and his vision whites out, then darkens. Felix’s knees buckle. When he can see again, he’s on his knees, and Dimitri’s bending over him, touching his face. “Fuck, Felix, can you hear me?”

Felix clutches his hands desperately, holding him down. “I changed my mind,” he pants. “Don’t you dare leave.”

“I’m not leaving.” Dimitri sinks down to his knees as well and kisses Felix’s forehead. The touch is staggeringly tender. What’s left of Felix’s blood rushes downwards, so quickly he nearly passes out again. His entire world narrows down to Dimitri’s breath against his brow.

The next moments pass in flashes. He blinks, and Dimitri’s hands are at the laces of his shirt. He blinks again, and his shirt is half undone and abandoned. One of them has pulled its hem from his fully-unlaced trousers. Dimitri must have done that. Felix doesn’t have the coordination for it, right now. His own hands clench desperately around Dimitri’s stupidly broad shoulders, and Dimitri’s stupidly large hands clasp uselessly around his waist. 

He tries to snap at him, to order him to get on with it. But all that comes out is a pitiful, whimpered, “Dimitri.”

“Apologies.” Dimitri’s breath is uneven. His palms are warm and damp through Felix’s shirt. “I just needed a moment.”

Then his hand drops to cup Felix through his clothes. Pressure and heat resonate through Felix’s entire body, and he forgets to be worried about the future, forgets to be scared about the present. Magic and pleasure surge through his veins, and he ruts against Dimitri’s hand, desperate for more. 

Dimitri obeys the wordless command. He whispers, “Goddess, Felix,” and slips his hand down the front of Felix’s trousers. When his bare palm connects with Felix’s cock, the sensation is white-hot and overwhelming. Felix has never felt anything as good as this. Dimitri’s hand curls, and moves tentatively up his shaft, and Felix convulses so hard his bones hurt.

Images flash through Felix’s mind: Dimitri’s arm moving with the thrust of a lance. A blunted practice sword against Felix’s neck. Against Dimitri’s. Gauntlets. Bare fingers. Blood in blond hair. A crown. 

Dimitri has barely touched him, but Felix shudders to a climax and spills over his hand. 

They slump together, panting for air. Dimitri seems almost as breathless as Felix himself. He doesn’t let go. Good. Felix wants to stay in this weightless, echoing pleasure forever, with Dimitri’s heart like steady wingbeats against his own erratic pulse. Between that and Dimitri’s breath hot and damp against his neck, he forgets he’s under a spell.

He remembers, painfully, when Dimitri tries to move away. Pain lances through him, and he crumples. “Fuck,” he gasps. “It’s not—that wasn’t—”

He’s still hard, and his body still aches with need. 

Dimitri tilts his head up by the jaw. His every touch is so tender tonight, but Felix is ever aware of how dangerous it is to have such strength so close to his throat. The danger, and how much he likes it. 

“If I remember Sylvain’s book correctly, this spell has two variants,” Dimitri says. Felix is fascinated with the way his mouth moves. Distantly aware that he’s always been fascinated, he just used to have the willpower to look away. “The first ends with release. The second requires…”

“Just fuck me, _please_.” He scrabbles at Dimitri’s belt buckle.

Dimitri groans and pulls Felix’s hands away. Felix strains, but can’t break free of the iron grip. He’s trapped as Dimitri asks, “Is there anyone in Fhirdiad you’d rather have? I could go and get—”

Still trying to make sure Felix is all right with this. Felix would be touched, if he wasn’t so frustrated. “There’s nobody else,” he snaps. Then, when Dimitri still doesn’t let go, quieter, “I trust you.” 

Dimitri’s hands tighten on his wrists, then drop away. He kisses Felix on the cheek, with yet more unbearable tenderness, before rising to his feet. He grabs Felix under the arms and hoists him up too. “Can you make it to my room?”

No, Felix thinks, as Dimitri starts straightening their clothes. But he says, “Yes,” because he’s never backed down from a challenge before. 

They make it out the storeroom door and two steps into the abandoned cellar before Felix breaks. He throws himself at Dimitri, tearing uselessly at his clothing. Kisses the slice of bare neck he can reach, in between pleas he’d be embarrassed about if he could hear himself at all. 

“All right, Felix, all right,” Dimitri groans.

His cock is hard against Felix. Somehow, that’s the biggest shock of the night. Felix fixates on it, not just how much he wants Dimitri inside him, but that Dimitri is actually turned on by this. By him. He turns the thought over and over in his mind as Dimitri props him up against the wall. Strips Felix’s shirt off, then his own.

“Hurry up,” Felix groans, but he’s grateful once Dimitri presses against him again, skin on skin. The contact grounds him against the cresting pleasure.

He nearly protests when Dimitri turns him to face the wall—he’s possessed by the absurd desire to see Dimitri’s face—until Dimitri covers him, and he feels Dimitri’s cock against his ass. He moans, presses back into it, and is thoroughly grateful Dimitri can’t see whatever stupid expressions he must be making. He braces his forearms on the wall and just tries to keep his feet beneath him as Dimitri fumbles with their belts. The incidental pressure against his cock is nearly enough to make him come again. 

He bites his lip to keep from saying anything embarrassing. Then Dimitri kisses his shoulder, and everything blurs. He doesn’t recognize the voice whining for more, quicker, please, _Dimitri_. Spit-slick fingers move between them, then pleasure so intense his arms feel numb, and it takes too long to realize Dimitri’s already fingering him. Distantly, he remembers that Dimitri’s hands are huge. But the fingers inside him don’t feel too big. They feel right, even as he knows he’ll be feeling this tomorrow. 

Magic radiates through his body. The world realigns, an earthquake between one breath and the next, and Felix’s body parts around Dimitri’s massive cock. It takes forever and no time at all before Dimitri’s thighs press against his ass, his chest against his back. More painful by far than the piercing stretch: tender lips against his neck, and gentle hands covering his.

Dimitri laces their fingers together, then moves. Murmurs, “I love you,” into Felix’s neck. 

Felix comes so hard, he passes out.

***

For the second time that night, Felix wakes in Dimitri’s lap. This time, Dimitri isn’t shouting at him. Just breathing into his hair, and stroking his arm.

Felix keeps his eyes closed to take stock of his situation. Like waking up in the infirmary after a battle—and he feels about as battered. His pants are on, but he’s still missing his shirt. So is Dimitri, whose chest is warm and rather sweaty under Felix’s cheek. Which Felix finds endearing and comforting instead of gross, which doesn’t rule out lingering brain trauma. Did he hit his head? 

He aches inside, and his head’s starting to pound with dehydration and the aftershocks of black magic in his system. He needs an elixir to stave off the incoming headache. But that’s all secondary to the warm, weightless contentment settling over him, and the soothing rhythm of Dimitri’s heartbeat.

For the first time in months, they aren’t _Your Grace_ or _Your Majesty_. They’re just them. Felix could get used to this, given the chance. 

“Are you all right?” Dimitri asks quietly. He doesn’t stop stroking Felix’s arm. 

Felix doesn’t know how to answer that. Instead, he says, “I’m thinking.”

“Ah. I suppose you.” Dimitri halts, takes a deep breath. Launches into something that sounds suspiciously rehearsed. “Felix, I wish to apologize for my recklessness. I should have--”

“Shut up.” Felix musters his remaining strength to open his eyes and sit up. Twists around until he’s straddling Dimitri’s lap and looking down at him, which—which was a tactical mistake, he’s too dizzy for this. He sways, before Dimitri’s hands automatically steady him. “I’m thinking next time, no magic. And I’m taking you out to dinner first.”

Dimitri’s hands tighten on his hips, and he swallows visibly. “Next time?”

“Shut _up_.”

But that’s even worse, because when Dimitri isn’t talking, he’s grinning up at him, so blinding bright Felix can’t even think. And before Felix can stop him from smiling like that, Dimitri leans up and kisses him first. 

It’s slow, it’s sweet, it’s maddeningly tender. It’s worse, or better, than any spell.


End file.
